Page 9 of Tangled Kisses
Ah, the love of felines.
Hopping out of the car, I stretch, taking in the serene, almost surreal beauty around me. Piper’s tastes have certainly matured, considering she spent her twenties living out of a tent while traipsing across the country.
At least she’s settled down, and in some of the most pristine land I’ve ever seen. I suck in a lungful of crisp air and let out a low, sated moan.
“I can do this. I’m a strong, independent woman, and I can do this.” Sadly, chanting affirmations does little to bolster my insecurities.
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve asked myself that question about a thousand times on this drive, only to be met with the rhythmic hum of tires on asphalt.
But today, staring at the mountains in the distance, I finally hear the answer.
Escaping.
From men in general—and one awful man in particular.
A man who hasn’t bothered to call over the last four days. Because he’s positive I’ll return.
He’s wrong.
That is the only thing I’m certain of now.
“Okay, Chowder, are you going to go quietly, or will it be a fight to the death?”
Within two seconds, I have my answer.
Chowder, honorary gladiator, digs his claws into the blanket lining the front seat, howling as I pry each paw free one claw at a time.
You’d think I was dragging him to the underworld.
“Fine. You win.” I drop my hold, and he slinks to the backseat with a hiss and a glare. “I’ll get the suitcases first. But then”—I wag a finger, earning a swat from one orange paw—“it’s your turn.”
Seems my luggage, after four days of travel, doesn’t like me any better than my cat.
In a feat that defies physics, the suitcase has wedged itself into a space clearly never meant for a suitcase. Now it’s no more willing to leave my car than Chowder.
“Come on. Give me a damn break,” I mutter, bracing a foot on the door for leverage and yanking on the handle.
You know Newton’s law? That for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Yep, it’s true.
The suitcase breaks free with the velocity of a missile, slamming into my chest and bowling me onto my ass in a cloud of dust.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I laugh out the words and run my hands over my face, realizing one second too late that every inch of me is now covered in a fine coating of dust.
Dear God, Piper will run screaming when she sees me.
Let’s hope she’s the first person I see. I cringe to think what anyone else might say.
“Whoa. Are you okay, darlin’?” A low drawl curls over my shoulder, sending an unexpected skitter of tingles up the back of my neck.
I freeze. No man’s voice has ever made me react like that.
But a man with a voice like that—so warm and ridiculously distracting—is thelastthing I need right now.
Especially since I swear Chowder is laughing behind his paw from his perch on the front seat.
